


Hope

by girlingoldboots



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Gen, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 19:45:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlingoldboots/pseuds/girlingoldboots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade finds hope with an elf in the morgue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [musamihi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/musamihi/gifts).



> Written for Musamihi in participation with Sherlockmas 2012 Holiday Fic Exchange on LiveJournal. Warnings for mention of character death and suicide, cheerful holiday things like that.
> 
> If you like what you've read, and are so inclined, the tip jar is open:  
> [Buy Me a Coffee](https://ko-fi.com/A4012NV1)

In retrospect Lestrade blamed the stockings, after all the spirit of Christmas shouldn't really be in a morgue.

Of course in further retrospect he could have also blamed many other things such as: His ex-wife, being alone on the holidays, being the only one available to work the late shift. The list was endless, but the stockings were his story and he was going to stick with it. 

It started with his ex-wife. The divorce was finalised with what he considered record time, which made him wonder if she hadn't been planning it for a while, but he wasn't going to fight her on anything. His eldest son was in university, and he opted to live in student housing. The younger one was going to live with his mother, but spend every other weekend with him. He made sure that the new flat he rented had a spare bedroom for both boys to share. They could stay when they wanted, or needed, to. Not ideal, but it was workable. 

It had been a horrible year since Sherlock's death. There had been a lot of fall-out that everyone was still slowly trying to dig themselves out of. His cases were reviewed, and he was grateful that convictions on most of them held, even with Sherlock's involvement taken out of the equation. He knew that the only reason the Met kept him employed was that his retirement was going to come sooner rather than later. In the end he kept his job and his position, but lost working homicides and his team. On one hand he was pissed about the unofficial demotion, however it meant that the issue of Anderson and Donovan's relationship was no longer his problem. Sally had come to him later, in an attempt to apologise, but he cut her off. She was a good cop who made poor personal judgements, and frankly he had more in his life to worry about than her. 

Which brings him to the shite week before Christmas that fate decided to throw at him. First there was a stake out during one of the coldest nights of the year. By the time he thawed out from that his eldest son had left a message apologising for not being able to spend Christmas with him, but he and his mates were taking a last minute trip. Lestrade was disappointed, but gave his blessing. 

That call was followed by his ex-wife who announced that she was visiting her family for the holidays and the younger boy was going with her. So he volunteered for the shifts no one wanted and found himself in the morgue at St. Bart's on Christmas day. 

He had to follow up with a coroner's report, and as he walked through the hall he could hear a small tinkling of bells and was pleased to see Dr. Hooper. The bells were on the small bracelet on her wrist and that seemed to go with the candy-cane striped stockings she wore under her conservative work skirt. 

"Doctor Hooper?" he called out and she turned around and smiled. It was good she still worked there. Considering that body parts left her morgue and into Sherlock's hands, he was pretty sure that she's be sacked. But there she still was. It made him happy. 

"Inspector!" She replied. "Are you here for the suicide that was just brought in?" A year ago those words would have been painful, but this year it was easier. 

"No, not my division anymore. I just need to talk to you about some older cases, if you have time." 

"Yeah, I've got time."

As they went to her office he asked her "Would have thought you'd be doing something today."

"No, I always work holidays." She replied. "I don't mind, someone has to. Coffee?" she asked.

He shook his head no. "Too much caffeine today." He set the folders on her desk. "If you can't remember details..."

She interrupted him. "I keep copies of all my reports. They should match up, but I'll get them and see. What are you looking for?"

"Damned if I know." was his honest answer. "I just do what they tell me and lay low." He didn't mean to be bitter, but it came through. 

"Don't we all?" She tried to joke. Instead they both fell silent as she looked through her computer to find her personal files that went with the case numbers. While that was going on they sat in comfortable silence, peppered with small talk about their mutual acquaintances. Molly mentioned John had started working at Bart's and he was off to his sister's for the holidays. "I don't know why he bothers." She said as she hit the print button and waited for the documents to finish. In an unguarded moment she seemed like the weight of the world was on her shoulders. It concerned him.

"You alright?" Greg asked.

"Yeah, not fond of this time of year is all." 

"It's hard on a lot of people." 

She nodded. "Like that poor kid they brought in. It's terrible, being that lonely. Not having anyone or anything. Just you and the prison of your thoughts and mind." While she said it she gathered the paperwork together. 

"No family, no friends. No one to care." Lestrade supplied. That had described the past year. There were many times that he had felt his life heading in that same direction, but the ' _what-ifs_ ' had stopped him. He couldn't, it was better to just keep going and hope things would get better. And they were, albeit slowly. He changed the subject because Molly had looked as if she might cry. Her mind was obviously elsewhere. "Nice postcards." he said, looking the ones pinned to the notice board behind her desk.

The message areas were blank, but they were from all over and some from places you wouldn't think would have a card available for. 

"My friends send them." She explained, after a moment. "Every time they travel. I like seeing the places they go to."

He nodded. He wasn't going to bother her anymore. The information would still be there, and he trusted that what she had would match with what was on file. Then she did something that surprised him. She kissed him on the cheek. "Happy Christmas, Inspector."

"Happy Christmas." He responded, noting that she slightly blushed as red as the stripes on her stockings. Hope came to him in the form of an elf in the morgue, and while it was not much, it was more than he had a year ago, and he was fine with that.


End file.
